


My Love

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Friendship/Love, Gen, Parenthood, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before boarding the plane, Sherlock hands John a letter. He never imagined that he had to come back less than ten minutes later</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To John

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0foxgiven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0foxgiven/gifts).



_My Love_

_Should I call you my love? I still don’t know. No, that’s a lie, I do know, but as Mycroft so eloquently put it “caring is a disadvantage”._

_You are in fact, my love; my one and only; my true love. I’ve realized that I love you, more deeply than I’ll ever admit it to anyone, even to you, but now, I’m about to leave, to board a plane into exile, to leave you, once again._

_This time, at least, is it at least? you’re aware that I leave you, not to save you, or maybe to really save you this time, from me. I’m not faking my death; I’m just leaving because I saved your life, your marriage, the woman you chose to be your wife._

_I killed him, no regrets, none at all, I actually felt satisfaction killing him, he made you suffer, and I can’t stand seeing you suffer, seeing your eyes pained, losing control. Your pain is my pain, whatever you feel, I feel a thousand times more. Sometimes I wish I could wrap you in my arms, lock us up, protect you from whatever may come, save you by being one._

_John -I’m not gay- Watson, I love you, not in the gay -fuck me now or else- way you’re imagining it, no need to blush, no need to over think it. I love you in the way I could love my life, meaning that my life is you, and only you. I love you like the air, the one that fills my lungs every time I say your name, like the sun, the one that appears every time you smile._

_Maybe I need to explain myself in a less romantic, poetic (stupid I may say) way. I think is best to use an example, so you can understand the way I love you. I died for you (sorry, a thousand times sorry) I dismantled an international criminal web for you. After Mary shot me, I came back from death because Moriarty (still shiver to the name), who is locked in a cell in my mind palace, told me you were in danger, and that I was the only one who could save you. You brought me back to life._

_Please don’t misread me. I can’t be happier for you, for your life, your wife, your kid. I knew that you’ll be moving on, that you’ll keep on living, that I’m just a chapter in the book of your life, but for me, you’re the book of my life. I never imagined I could love anyone the way I love you. You’ve made my life complete, filled with love, friendship, care, tea..._

_John, you’re my only friend, my best friend, the best man I’ve ever had the fucking luck to know. I never imagined I’ll be confessing my love to you. Not -in- love, but real love. Not the infatuation game, the belly butterflies, nor the rosy cheeks, not the sexual tension-desire, nor the kiss me or I’ll die, crazy stupid love, no, real love. Love the man I see, the way he is, his life instead of mine kind of love._

_I’m sorry John, but that’s the truth, I love you, I love you madly, I love you deeply, I love you, and just you. Now that I have to go, I really hope I’ll leave you in the right hands. I’m sure the pain of this parting will, someday, subside, I’m sure the moment you’ll see your new-born’s face it’ll be “Sherlock who?”; and I’ll be content, content with the fact that in the end I had a chance to love, and that you were the one I could love, and will always love._

_I will always love you_

_Yours always and forever, your friend_

_Sherlock Holmes_


	2. All because of a letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV about the letter

Your love? John was bewildered. He had read the letter Sherlock gave him that night before he unsuccessfully attempted to go to bed. He wanted to update his blog, let people know that the best detective in the world was back, that the greatest man he had ever had the fortune to meet will stay in London and they’ll keep on solving crimes; but his pocket was burning with the letter, so he locked himself up in his study and opened the envelope Sherlock gave him.

It was a letter; of course it was a letter. John assumed it was a goodbye letter, or something of that sort, believing, mistakenly, that Sherlock would tell him to take care of his wife, his child and of course himself, or even maybe some address or phone number or contact of some sort to keep in touch while he was gone.

But no, the drama-queen, the all-time worst ever friend award winner, the heartless machine, the “caring is not an advantage”, the “sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side”, the man that thinks that “love is a dangerous disadvantage”, his best friend, his best man, the best man he had ever had the good fortune of knowing, the most brilliant, awesome, genius, the man that was willing to kill and die for him, had just declared his love for him.

What was John supposed to do? Was Sherlock expecting an answer? It was, indeed, a goodbye letter, was he saying goodbye to John because he was leaving? Or was he saying goodbye because he thought all was lost? Was all lost? He was fucking married to the woman he loved, for Christ sake! He was having a kid with said woman! He was happy! Was he?

“Are you done dear?" The sweet voice of Mary came from the other side of the door

“Yeah, be right there… love…” John answered, a hint of doubt in his voice, he just hoped his very pregnant wife wouldn’t notice. Just a couple days ago he had asked her “Is ‘Mary Watson’ good enough for you?” And he felt happy, he did, and then Sherlock killed a man for him, again! And all hell got loose.

He went to bed, tried to sleep, but instead, he tossed and turned the whole night. Mary knew something was wrong, but couldn’t dare to ask, she felt like she was still on probation, that John needed time to forgive her, to trust her again. She pretended to sleep, but uncertainty had creeped its way on to the conjugal bed.

The next day, a haggard looking John left early in the morning, not saying goodbye. He needed to think. He walked aimlessly, or so he thought, from his new “home” back in the suburbs, an hour or so after, he was dancing in front of the door of a well known and loved Consulting Detective, in the same way as many of their clients had danced before, going back and forth from the door to the street and vice versa.

He had the keys, but this wasn’t his home anymore. Was it? He decided to ring the bell, it was best, maybe Sherlock wasn’t home, maybe he had someone over, maybe he should ring the bell, maybe he should just leave, after all, the letter was pretty clear, Sherlock was happy for him, and he never said he was “in love”, he just said he loved him. Sherlock freaking Holmes loves John Watson.

He mustered all the courage he was capable of and rang the bell. No answer. Maybe the bell was in the fridge… again. He got his keys and opened the door. He breathed as he went up the seventeen steps that separated his new life from his old one and opened the last door. Sherlock was sprawled over the couch; black trousers that defined his lower body and the damn purple shirt that made him look like a freaking god.  

John walked to his sleeping friend and shook him, he needed to talk to Sherlock, ask him about the fucking letter that had kept him awake the whole night, doubting his life, his choices, feeling uncomfortable to sleep next to his pregnant wife.

Sherlock woke up and looked at John questioningly. What was John doing here, so early in the morning? It was barely six! And it dawned on him, he had read the letter, hell must have frozen over.

Sherlock tried to speak, but John cut him with a gesture of his hand, he waved it dismissively only to fist it and move it to his own leg. Sherlock thought John might hit him, and braced himself, this was going to be epic!   

John was bewildered. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but Sherlock knew better. This was the calm before the storm. This “tranquil” looking John was the worst, every fibre of his being was filled with fear, because he knew his best friend, he knew that this was more dangerous than a screaming John, an angry John, this John was menacing, enraged, infuriated, a soldier and a doctor…

What the fucking hell Sherlock? How dare you? Really, how dare you? John began, almost inaudibly. His breath was hitched, his eyes inflamed, his whole body tensed up

You fucking love me and you wait to tell me before leaving me… again? And after I get married and I make you my best man?

Why didn’t you tell me before? Why wait to a moment like this? You had me living here for almost six months after I got married and never had the fucking balls to tell me that you fucking loved me?

What was the intension of that fucking letter? To say goodbye, to tell me you love me, to tell me all is lost, to have me here, doubting every choice I’ve ever made in my fucking life?

Sherlock opened his mouth, as to answer but John cut him again, his body language more menacing now.

Don’t you dare speak, you… prick! How dare you? You could have said something before the fall! Before Mary, before the baby, just before!

What do you expect from me? To leave my pregnant wife? To move back here with you? To say that I love you?  

It hit him like a ball in his stomach, he was left breathless. John Watson was in love with this mad man, actually IN love with him, he not only loved him, he wanted to be loved back; he wanted to be with him. Images of them kissing, touching, holding hands, hugging, making love, came running to his mind. To John Watson, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t just a “chapter” in the book of his life. Sherlock Holmes was the life of John Watson; he needed him like he needed air, no one could live without breathing and to John, Sherlock was the synonym of life.

He was silent for a few minutes, while he let the realization dawn on him. He had to tell Mary. Oh God, Mary, the woman he chose, the mother of his daughter, the supposed love of his life. He had to tell her that he loved a mad man, that he loved Sherlock Holmes; that it -them- was over. His eyes flickered from one side to the other, his mind working a million miles per second, all his feelings, all his denial, his past life, his nick name “three continents Watson”, everything, down the drain.

He didn’t owned his body anymore, nothing was sane about him right now, except his mouth, it was kissing madly, deeply, like it had never kissed before, it was kissing Sherlock, his mouth knew the truth all along, and apparently so did his hands, and his body, and his legs, and his cock. When he opened his eyes again, he was on top of Sherlock, his clothes long gone, his body sweating, covered in Sherlock's come, panting against his neck, one hand in his hip, the other one in those maddening curls, his lips kissing Sherlock’s neck, leaving a very visible lovebite.

He snapped out of his daze and held Sherlock close

I love you too, you fucking git. Now you have to help me clean all this fucking mess you’ve made for not telling me before.

That afternoon, John moved back to Baker Street. The next time he moved was to leave London for good. Sherlock had found a beautiful house back in Sussex where they lived mostly happy. The last word John said before he died, peacefully in his bed, next to his only love was “Sherlock”. The very next day, a few hours later, Sherlock followed him, how could you ever breath again when your source of air, of life is gone? His last whisper was his one and only love’s name “John”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't leave it unanswered. Hope you enjoy it!  
> Sad end, but everything has to end at some point. Right?


	3. Violet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not just one life changed because of one letter. Violet Watson-Holmes finds about the true story behind her fathers love story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to 0foxgiven. who was wandering, rightfully, what happened to Mary's baby... Thank you for reading and inspiring me to write... Love!  
> *Bibi: also known as Empress Bibi Bilqis Makani (Johd Bai) wife to Sha Janan, who constructed, as homage to her, the Taj Mahal, that is located in Agra... enjoy!

As homage to his apparently lost love; John decided “his” daughter’s names. He called her Violet, after Violet Holmes, Sherlock’s mother. Mary, of course, cursed and cried and fought John, but in the end, she had to relent.

The week Sherlock spent under solitary confinement had been a terrible week for John too; he knew that Sherlock was alone and he wasn’t able to visit. He wanted to see his friend, thank him for what he had done. He was supposed to enjoy being back with Mary, but something in the back of his mind told him that everything was wrong, that he should be the one behind bars, or even Mary.

Sherlock had done so much for them, saving his life, his wife’s and daughter’s life, again… Sherlock deserved better, but John had no idea what to do for him, except try and be there, pay an homage to him, to the man he loved… as a friend of course; John is “not gay”.         

At the tarmac, John heard for the first time his friend’s full name, and he decided, unilaterally, like he did before, that his daughter’s name will be Wilhelmina Violet, he decided not to discuss it with Mary, he wasn’t keen of fighting over a name, again, with his pregnant wife.

But then he opened the damn letter and he left Mary and went to Sherlock again. The day Violet was born John was utterly happy, nothing compared to the bliss he felt the second he held little Violent in his arms, he loved the little girl with his life; Sherlock felt the same, though he pretended to be nonchalant, and even annoyed about the warm feeling he had when he held Violet for the first time and she grabbed his finger with her tiny hands.

Sadly, to both; Violet was Mary’s daughter, not John’s… David had a lot to do with that, but John loved her like she was his own. He would take her to school every other day, and had her every other weekend. Violet was the perfect example that nature has nothing over nurture, she was insightful, precocious and had Sherlock wrapped around her little finger.

Papa, as she loved calling Sherlock, would take her to crime scenes, interrogations, and chases. To John and Mary’s dismay, Violet’s first word wasn’t mama or dada, was murder. After Mary died, John was in charge of little Violet, he was; after all, her “father”, when she was fourteen, her long lost father reappeared, and intended to take her away from daddy and papa, but she wouldn’t have it. She was legally a Watson-Holmes, and she’ll die before being something else, besides, she had little Hamish to take care of, and she wasn’t about to leave her family because a stranger had a sudden change of heart.

When Daddy and Papa moved away from London to Sussex, she would visit them every weekend, she stayed at 221 B, and Hamish shared the flat with her until she got married. Two kids later, Scott and Bibi*, she was as happy as she could be. Uncle Mycroft gave her a job, even though Papa was furious.

She loved Daddy and Papa, and one afternoon, right after David came looking for her, she asked her fathers what was that about. John handed her a wrinkled paper.

“You’ve read my blog sweetie” John told her “You already know the many adventures Papa and I had; but there’s one story you haven’t heard, and you both are old enough to know about it”

Hamish was twelve, and she was about to turn fifteen. She read the letter Sherlock gave John before he boarded the plane and she was both amazed and confused, to her, Daddy and Papa had been together their whole lives, at least she assumed that because they were like teenagers in love all the time, sneaking around, having snog fests after hours, and well… it wasn’t exactly a nice memory… too many times… too many things happening at the same time…. Lesson learned, knock, EVERY TIME!    

“After that letter I moved back with your Papa, I realised I was in love with him, and I left your mummy. She understood, of course, and in time, she forgave me; sadly, mummy died, and we decided to take care of you. Papa adopted you and gave you his name and that’s our history with you. I know you have a difficult choice to make Vi, but know that we love you and that we will support you whatever you choose, we will always be here for you” John was sitting in front of HIS daughter, as she snuggled her Papa, sitting on his lap as she had done many times before, after many scary nightmares.

“We love you petit papillon, always” Sherlock held her close, caressing her back, as to comfort her. “You are mine, and mine alone, no matter what anybody says. You’ll always be mon petit Viola” He whispered in her ear “If you want to leave, I’ll understand, you have every right to know who you are, to know your history and to create your own future, but you’ll always be my baby girl”

Violet was crying, but she was crying happy tears. She stood from his papa’s lap and looked at them both before kneeling in between them. “I am Wilhelmina Violet Watson-Holmes” she whispered “and you’re mi daddy” she kissed John’s hand “and you’re my papa” she kissed Sherlock’s “And I’ll never leave you”  

And that was settled, sure, she was young, but for her, her parents were sitting with her in that very same room where she had played, and learned the violin, and danced in her papa’s shoes, and had tea parties with daddy, and where she had helped Hamish learn how to walk. And yes, it took just a letter for them to become a family  

**Author's Note:**

> To 0foxgiven, thank you for asking!
> 
>  
> 
> Don't own them. Enjoy! Comments are always welcome


End file.
